


The Feeling's Mutual

by Xemriss



Category: Flight Rising, Original Work
Genre: Choking, Exhibitionism, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Hinting at Somnophilia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Manhandling, Masturbation, Mutual Manipulation, No Aftercare, Orgasm, Orgasm Control, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Praise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xemriss/pseuds/Xemriss
Summary: Llaine steps into his room at the Paragon Foundation and closes the door behind him, the deafening silence welcoming. He breathes a sigh of relief after pink, tired eyes scan the dark room and find it empty.The day had been long and slow andfrustrating,especially when the test results he had been waiting on weren’t even close to his expectations. As usual, Harkonnen hadn’t been of much help with how restless —horny— he was. He wonders if the Imperial evenhasa proper cycle.





	The Feeling's Mutual

**Author's Note:**

> Harkonnen, Mephisto, and the Paragon Foundation belong to Avalonian #11466 on FR.
> 
> Characters are in humanoid form.

[**Llaine**](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=2939603) steps into his room at the Paragon Foundation and closes the door behind him, the deafening silence welcoming. He breathes a sigh of relief after pink, tired eyes scan the dark room and find it empty.

The day had been long and slow and _frustrating_ , especially when the test results he had been waiting on weren’t even _close_ to his expectations. As usual, [**Harkonnen**](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=40391007) hadn’t been of much help with how restless — _horny_ — he was. He wonders if the Imperial even _has_ a cycle.

He easily navigates into the bathroom in the dark, unceremoniously peels off his layers and leaves them where they fall, then pads back into the bedroom and pulls on a pair of sleep pants. He makes a brief detour to his desk, flicks the small light on and opens a dark, plain-bound journal to the next blank page, then scribbles ‘ _retest_ ’. He covers it with loose papers after he shuts it, then flicks off the light and, finally, settles on his bed. He turns on the bedside lamp, plucks his book off the nightstand and resumes where he left off the previous night.

The familiar feeling of being watched eventually settles under Llaine’s skin. He looks up, immediately catches a surprised Harkonnen standing a handful of paces from the door — still dressed in his day wear.

Llaine frowns, voice a slightly deeper rumble than normal. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Harkonnen’s surprise morphs into disappointment. “I thought you’d be asleep by now, old man.” A bright, curious look dominates his face as he catches sight of the book in Llaine’s hands. “What’s got you reading at _this_ hour?”

Just watching Harkonnen’s expression leap from one to the next is enough to give Llaine a headache. He unamusedly blinks at his uninvited guest, mutters, “Harkonnen, it’s too late for this,” while resignedly closing his book sooner than he likes. He notices Harkonnen shiver in the corner of his peripheral as he replaces his reading material back onto the nightstand and stands. From how mesmerized Harkonnen seems in regards to his chest, it’s clear that this is the first time he’s made an attempt to sneak into Llaine’s room after dark — and thus is the first time he’s laying eyes on the red tattoos that fluidly adorn his currently unglamoured, exposed skin. “It’s how I prefer to relax, but since you’ve managed to interrupt, I now need to find a suitable replacement.”

Harkonnen dramatically pouts at the deflection, then curiously tilts his head. A mischievous glint appears in his similarly-colored eyes as he takes on an innocent tone, “What do you have in mind?”

Llaine doesn't take the bait. He strides over and takes Harkonnen by the upper arm, firmly steers him back towards the door. “Preferably for you to bother someone else at this hour, unless it’s an emergency. Perhaps [**Mephisto**](http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=39238579)?”

Harkonnen stubbornly, _childishly_ , plants his feet as soon as Llaine finishes, shoots him a sharp smirk over his shoulder that clearly says ‘ _make me_ ’. “Mephisto’s not _nearly_ as fun.”

Llaine clenches his jaw as a wave of frustration rolls through him — both from Harkonnen’s refusal to leave without the need for force, and for that expression of his. He _loathes_ how easy it is for Harkonnen to get under his skin — is positive Harkonnen’s aware of it, too.

After a few beats of charged silence he gets an idea, wordlessly lifts his free hand and curls it around Harkonnen’s throat. His suspicions of why Harkonnen showed up are confirmed as Harkonnen’s demeanor immediately shifts. Without an ounce of hesitation, Harkonnen stills and slightly tips his head back to offer him better access, lips slightly parting.

Llaine _knows_ he shouldn’t indulge Harkonnen when he tries to instigate, yet is naturally driven to keep up with him — plus, the faster he gets this over with, the sooner he’ll be left _alone_.

He releases his hold on Harkonnen's arm and leans forward so his lips ghost Harkonnen’s ear. “I haven’t seen you, yet. Take it out and show me,” Llaine demands, his free hand briefly cups Harkonnen’s crotch for emphasis — he’s far from surprised at how hard Harkonnen already is.

Harkonnen hums, tone humble and honest as he murmurs, “It’s not _nearly_ as impressive as yours,” then clicks his teeth together as he fumbles with the fastener of his pants. Light pink precum rapidly gathers at the tip, overflows down the underside when Harkonnen pulls himself free. In the dim light, Llaine gauges him at about seven inches, and he’s relatively smooth with a slight curve.

Llaine doesn’t care enough about cock sizes to judge Harkonnen’s, will never understand why others are compelled to compare them in general. “Show me how you touch yourself,” he says, expectantly.

Harkonnen twitches at the order, presses his neck against Llaine’s hand to impulsively nudge his cheek against Llaine's; it’s brief enough that Llaine doesn’t bother to acknowledge it or punish him. “I’ve never liked doing it myself,” Harkonnen fills, not a trace of the sickly sweet smoke that usually spills from his mouth and nose to be found. “In theory, I can do it better than anyone else: I _know_ myself, but…” Harkonnen’s sigh morphs into a low groan as he slides his palm along the hot, sensitive skin, idly smearing pink precum over every inch of himself. “That was until I felt _you_ touch me. Fancy that,” he adds with a snarky eyebrow raise.

Llaine abruptly steers Harkonnen backward by the hand that’s still curled around his neck, doesn't stop until Harkonnen’s back hits the door with a dull _thump_ , then buries his other hand in Harkonnen’s dark, shoulder length hair and slightly tugs. “Is that why you tried to sneak into my bedroom tonight?” Llaine lowly whispers, tone challenging. “Because the feel of my hands are the first you’ve preferred? Perhaps I haven’t been disciplining you enough.”

A mix of surprise and arousal flickers through Harkonnen’s face as his guard falters. Pink eyes glaze over as he wraps his fingers around himself and nods in agreement. “I was never good at following the rules, being above others and all...” His head lolls back against the wall, yet he never looks away from Llaine’s face as he strokes himself; his carefully maintained composure frays.

“Now you manage a respectable facility of your own and are making great strides with research. Yet you sneak around in the dead of night as if you’ve been recently hired, and spend the majority of your days, and, now, nights, harassing me in hopes of feeling my cock. Instead of working. Instead of _asking_.”

Genuine _shame_ seems to overtake Harkonnen’s entire form, strong enough that he looks away and meekly bites his bottom lip. “I never asked because I was _sure_ you’d turn me down — every time.” His hand’s pace slows, and he thickly swallows as his posture recovers; the mischievous glint from earlier returns to his eyes as he catches Llaine’s gaze. “You think people don’t try me? Truth be told, you may have left. You may have said ‘ _yes_ ’. I don’t know. But I had other methods at my disposal, and I used them,” Harkonnen reveals, proudly smiling as he hints at the gratuitous use of his organic smoke. “I _prefer_ them.”

Llaine _would_ have turned him down every time, but he doesn’t say such, knows he doesn’t need to. He enjoys taking advantage of Harkonnen in return — even if that’s exactly what Harkonnen _hopes_ for — and part of him enjoys their unspoken little ‘games’. He waits for Harkonnen’s pace to rebuild, says, “Applying what you’ve learned to get what you want. Good boy.”

The praise catches Harkonnen by surprise. His cheeks flush as his hips buck, and he barely manages to choke back a soft whimper. Panting, his free hand clutches Llaine's forearm, and he quickly regains both his rhythm and what's left of his composure.

Llaine’s eyes glint with the curiosity that’s only reserved for when something in his work gets his attention, and he makes a mental note to use praise against Harkonnen more often. He adds a bit of pressure around Harkonnen's throat, pulls a moan from him when he gives his hair another, sharper, tug. “Faster. Show me how you look when I bend you over your desk.”

Harkonnen’s knees tremble as his hand moves with newfound desperation. Strained whines slip through clenched teeth as he unashamedly, gladly, bares himself for Llaine to see.

Llaine lets him squirm for a moment as he waits for his permission, eyes pleading, then slides the hand that’s around Harkonnen’s neck up to firmly grip him under his chin. “Come.”

Not needing to be told twice, Harkonnen immediately obeys. With a final pump of his hand, he grunts and shudders, whimpers, “ _Llaine_ ,” as bright pink fluid haphazardly coats his hand and arm and shirt — enough that some of it audibly splatters onto the floor.

“Good boy,” Llaine repeats after Harkonnen’s spent. He releases Harkonnen as his aftershocks set in and takes a step back to eye the mess. Llaine swipes off the few wayward drops that manages to reach his belly with a finger, and deliberately wipes if off on Harkonnen’s shoulder. “It’s late. Clean this up before you go.”

Llaine ignores his own mildly stirring erection as he turns away; is sure that he feels wet, trembling lips briefly caress the back of his shoulder, yet refuses to spare Harkonnen another glance.

He returns to his bed, acting as if Harkonnen isn’t there, and settles upon it once more with his book.

Llaine forgets about both Harkonnen and the 'punishment' that just transpired as he gets lost in the pages — until he eventually hears a soft, “Goodnight,” as Harkonnen slips out.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr (fr: [**@frxemriss**](https://frxemriss.tumblr.com/), nsfw: [**@ifisitsitfits**](https://ifisitsitfits.tumblr.com/)) and twitter (main: [**@xemriss**](https://twitter.com/Xemriss), nsfw: [**@ifisitsitfits**](https://twitter.com/ifisitsitfits)) _!_ <3


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